


Letting Go

by Somekindofcontraption



Category: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 09:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21426127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somekindofcontraption/pseuds/Somekindofcontraption
Summary: "Loving her was not the worst thing Hades had ever done."An exploration of the Hera/Hades relationship from before the Titanomachy up until the canon kiss and Persephone.
Relationships: Hades/Hera (Lore Olympus), Hades/Persephone (Lore Olympus)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 140





	Letting Go

Loving her was not the worst thing Hades had ever done.

Hades remembered that slim, golden body over him, the arch of her back, the graceful curve of her. The sweeping halo of hair cascading down her back and shoulders, brushing over perfect, tiny breasts, skimming against her belly as she rose above him, gentle as a sigh. Shining in the moonlight, framed by the night sky, quivering with need.

Before the Titanomachy and the ragged criss-cross of scars scraped her clean through, before his brother laid his claim to her, before she was the Queen of All. When she was just Hera, creeping into his room at night, carving her way into his solitary haven. The two of them, bodies all clumsy instinct, the slow exploratory way of them, setting out together in the unknown. 

Hades could hardly speak, then, but he could love her— this Goddess who was the kindest thing he’d ever been allowed outside of Rhea’s gentle touch. The last good thing he’d been allowed. Someone for him to worship; he could make her feel good, push his love into her with gentle, shallow strokes until they were both filled with it.

Hades reveled most nights in the luxurious and slow cant of her hips, the wanton rolling shiver just before she came, clenching around him, leaning to lay her forehead on his, breathing his air, sweat mingling between them both. Basked in that intimate idle whispering, the _you’re so good to me, _the _I love you Aidoneus, _the hopelessly optimistic _never let me go. _

When Hera rode him to coming it was steady as the rise and fall of the oceans, the gentle lap of waves so sweet that when he came he sobbed into her mouth, tears rolling down his cheeks, pulsing deep inside of her with all the naiveté of one who had no idea that such actions could have consequences. As his soft cock slipped from her body Hades felt desolate, isolated by the lingering kiss before she slipped away into the night. 

The kiss, a reminder that they were a lot of things but permanent was not one of them.

Winning the Titanomachy did not taste like victory when it was chased with grief. Did not feel like winning when he was relegated to the Underworld by his jealous brother. Did not feel triumphant when Hera, pity closing off her shining face, told him that her aspirations were more than whatever was between them. 

Hades wanted to be loved. Hera wanted to be Queen. But not of the Underworld, never of the dead. Not wilting in the cold, huddled in the darkness with him. Hera saw herself, a crown atop her golden head, blooming atop the mountain peaks in the light of the sun, the largest helping of the cosmos at her fingertips. 

Hera loved him but she then she loved Zeus, and all that came with him, more.

Zeus was a project of a man, something for her to fix. It was unsurprising to all but Hera that he turned out to be a cruel husband, a jealous and ofttimes selfish lover. A man full of promises he had no intention of keeping. After the discovery of Zeus’ first lover, and the fight that ensued, she summoned Hades in the gardens of Olympus with two desperate hands on the ground. 

Hades came, of course, as he always did when Hera needed him. While she sobbed, fingers grabbing at his clothes, Hades held her to his chest, rubbing soothing circles into her back.Hera looked up at him, eyes puffy, cheeks wet, and without warning she set upon him with hungry mouth, clawing fingers.

The worst of him; the very worst. Hades should have stopped her. When in her grief and with newfound determination she shed her clothes, parted his robes, climbed into his lap, and slid all the way down onto his throbbing, needy cock with a whine; Hades should have stopped her. But Hera took, and Hades let her wring him dry, rutting her like a desperate beast.

They ended up in the dirt, and it was nothing like it used to be, with rocks scraping his back and thighs, the sting of her nails on his chests. With that pouting mouth pressed against his own grim maw, the bruising, frantic scrambling, the lewd squelching of wet as he bucked up into her waiting body. 

Hera came twice; the second time, Hades followed her with a wail, crushing her down against him and filling her with his come, his tear streaked face tucked between her breasts, jabbering endless words of love against her skin.

Before either of them had even caught their breath, Hera scrambled off of him, his seed dripping from the soft curls between her legs, intermingled with the sticky wet of her arousal. Without a word she hastily redressed herself; the mess he’d made of her, now hidden beneath layers of fabric, and her mussed hair the only evidence on her of what they’d done.

When Hera looked down at him, sticky and exhausted on the ground, it was with a look of satisfaction. She slipped off into the night without so much as a parting kiss, leaving him there in the dirt, and it wasn’t until later that Hades realized that things couldn’t be as they were before. That the satisfied look on her face was not for him.

Hera was pleased knowing that for what Zeus did to her, she had repaid him in spades. 

For good measure, she’d punished Zeus’ lover. Teeming with guilt, Hades hadn’t visited Olympus again for a decade after, couldn’t be close to Hera knowing that she only loved him second best to his horrible, selfish brother. Knowing that he only loved the idea of her, the memory.

But loving her was not the worst thing Hades had ever done. The worst thing he had done was what he continued to do; the guilt he felt over betraying his brother was not enough to turn Hera away when she came to him again, and again, and again. Their illicit couplings, spread throughout the centuries.

The cycle repeated; Hera would discover another of Zeus’ sordid affairs. The two would fight, Zeus would tell her that she was crazy, that she was imagining things. Zeus would leave, and Hera would summon him, hands to the ground—they’d fuck, each time rougher and more fevered than the last, their mutual frustration building in them over the course of centuries. The wheel kept spinning. 

Hades would come; Hera would use him. Somewhere along the way, he realized he was using her too. Like gold vein filling the cracks in him, not fixing him completely but holding him together, making him something new out of broken pieces.

Hera had a pregnancy scare and it all came crashing down around them. 

Hades still remembers the encounter vividly; it was the only time he sought Hera out himself. Being with Leuce was so easy; she was so kind, and so beautiful. He wasn’t sure if it was love, but he knew that he was happy, for a time. Visiting her in Demeter’s lands, meeting her in secret, making love to her in the spring grasses of the mortal realm. They lived as if in a dream, and he hardly spared a thought for the fact that she was mortal. That he would outlive her.

When Hades brought her to the Underworld his flower nymph withered to the ground, dead in his arms before she could even say so much as whisper his name. In his grief he made the poplar, the most beautiful living thing he could manage as the lord of the death, and scattered them throughout Elysium to remember her by. 

Demeter never forgave him. 

When he arrived at Zeus and Hera’s house it was the middle of the night. By some stroke of luck, or twisted game of the Fates, Zeus was away from the realm on business. Hera let him in; brought him to the safe, neutral ground of Zeus’ office. They shared a bottle of whiskey; Hades told Hera everything, and she consoled him. 

The need, the desire to feel, was a twisted, gnarled thing, taking root in his chest and depriving him of air. Hera breathed heat and want into his lungs, expelling the sorrow, leaving only a desperate need to feel alive, and real. Hades fucked her twice that night.

The first time he didn’t undress her; instead he rucked her dress up around her hips, pulled her panties aside just enough to shove his cock into her, and took her bent over Zeus’ desk. Under the watchful eye of his brother’s hideous oil portrait, an ostentatious thing that took up an entire wall of the office. 

Hades’ hands were digging so deeply into the meat of Hera’s hips he left bruising fingerprints, the desk creaking with the force of it, thrusting quick staccato thrusts, a punishing pace with skin slapping hard on skin. 

When he came he bit her shoulder, marking her, proof that it had happened. Reckless, self-destructive behavior, knowing full well that Zeus could find the marks and both of them would suffer. But still he continued to use her, roughly, and she enjoyed the chance to be his temporary solace.

The second time he fucked her, Hades brought her into her marriage bed, lapping at her clit until she was wet and mewling for him, fucking her with tongue and fingers until she came.It was crude, messy, the taste of his own seed mingling with the taste of her, dripping out her while he worked her over with everything he had. After she came, he let her take her pleasure, riding him hard and fast, stretching him thin, bouncing on his throbbing dick with loud, breathy moans. 

With Hera bringing him closer to orgasm, Hades had an errant thought that he hated Zeus; for what he had, and how he squandered it. There was a dark part of him that took great pleasure in taking Hera in his brother’s house, in Zeus’ own bed. While Hades languished eternity alone, through no fault of his own, his brother saw fit to take for granted the thing that Hades wanted most in the world; having someone who loved him. 

With that thought Hades growled, determined, flipping them over. Tossing Hera’s legs up over his shoulders, he slammed into her with wild abandon, slapping against her plush ass, the sound echoing through the bedroom. 

Someone was wailing, and he wasn’t sure which of them it was, and when he came he pushed deep inside and held there, hips shaking with his second release, semen pulsing slick and hot inside of her. They didn’t kiss; they so rarely ever remembered to kiss anymore. Hades left her on the bed, returning to the Underworld to drown his sorrows in booze, feeling even more empty and alone than he had before.

One month later; it was just a scare, it turned out to be nothing. But it was enough to put them off each other for some time; the stakes were far too high, with far too many consequences, and so they agreed that they couldn’t do it again. 

So much time passed, and they kept their resolution. There were no more trysts, even when Zeus continued to cheat. Hades met Minthe, a strong wind to the brush fire of his self-hatred, kicking up flames and heat and smoke, choking out what little self-worth he might have had. Minthe tore through him, picked him clean, before circling around like a vulture to do it all again. 

When Hades awoke on his couch the day after she laid hands on him, it was with tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes. A heavy, sick feeling, like rot in his gut. This had to be rock bottom, surely. Even after Leuce, he hadn’t felt lower than this. It surprised him to see Hera there, doing her best to comfort him, as if suddenly she remembered that he might need someone to lean on too, from time to time.

It put him on edge, too.

There was a time when Hades would have taken her, pour his grief and anger into fucking her, until there was nothing left but his empty husk and a deep-seated feeling of loneliness. There was a time when Hera would let him, and use him just the same, riding the wave of what they used to be, what they could never be again, until both of them were spent.

It was not altogether surprising when Hera kissed him; for a moment, even, he leaned into that kiss, to the touch of her hands on his shoulders. It would be so easy, to try and fill the cracks again, paint them over gold. So touch-starved was he that even the roughness between them felt kinder than what there was between him and Minthe.

But he knew, as Hera pressed against him, that none of this was anything like what he felt for Kore.

Darling Persephone, who came into his life like a whirlwind and showered him with more affection than he knew what to do with. Who filled him with a warm, soft feeling, so unlike the lonely longing for Hera, the burning lust for Minthe. 

Persephone was altogether something different, something special. Something he wasn’t sure he deserved; something that made him aspire to be a different man, a better one, one who did deserve her, who deserved the things she had to give. 

Hades broke the kiss, pushing Hera away, and reminded her of the vow they made. It shocked them both, and Hera was sat with a strange look in her eyes that he didn’t quite understand. They went on their way, Hades bringing Hera home, but later he recognized the conclusion that Hera had already come to;

The path ahead was treacherous, unknown. The only way to see where it would lead him was to stop taking refuge in the comfort of the familiar. Their time together had passed long before they were willing to let go of it. But now, springing up out of the ashes of what they were, was something more precious, more beautiful. 

A friendship they both so desperately needed.

Hades had made many mistakes along the way. There were no excuses for the wrong he had done, for the wrong either of them had done, but this was the turning of the tide. So while loving Hera was not the worst thing Hades had ever done, letting her go was certainly the best. Hades wanted to be loved, and for the first time since he’d been free of Kronos, he finally felt like he could be someone who deserved it.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to work with this relationship as something dysfunctional, a crutch that these characters use to avoid dealing with their problems.  
So, here's the result.


End file.
